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^ ''' ISSPED SEMI'WEEgl^^ l. m. grist & sons, Publishers, 1 A ^amitg jHcirspager: <$or the promotion of the political, ?oria!, Agricultural, and Commercial Jliterests of the people. j established 1855. YORKVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 1899. NO. 45. - , j | | ' * * *'* * 1 3 ?? I Tliu VDir niil/iiiiViid iff ft! HftM&TC ByJOHN8TRA Copyright, 1898, by tho Author. CHAPTER XII. AN ITEM OF NEWS. Ft tohs inst three rears after her mar riage with Alan istacey that Mary came down stairs uiie morning into the long, low ceiled dining room where breakfast was awaiting her She received the noisy greeting of the rough haired terrier with a kindly pat on the head, stooped and rnfiled the fur of the great Angora cat as he lay before the cheerful fire She turned to the manservant when he came in "Oh, John Mr Stacey has a headache this morning, the worst he has had for months He says he will take no more than a cup of tea and two bits of dry toast "Indeed, ma am. I'm sorry to hear that, said John in a sympathetic tone. "It's a long time since the master has had a real bad headache Thank you, ma am. as she poured out the large cup of tea. Mary sat down in her place and poured out her own tefc. She was not worried or upset at her husband's indisposition. because he was a man who had all his life suffered occasionally from violent headaches, and he declared that since his marriage they naa neen mnch less frequent than formerly She helped herself to some kedgeree and opened one by one the pile of letters beside her plate, smiling over their contents new and then, as if she found the news they contained pleasant Then, these disposed of, she took a second helping of the kedgeree, which was unusually good, and opened the newspaper. setting it up against the teapot for the greater convenience of being able to eat and read at the same time. Like all women, she read the first column to begin with, then turned the paper over to the middle sheet. In one moment the whole atmosphere and attitude of her life was changed, for there, in staring letters before her, was the heading "Survivors of the Arikhama. " She caught the paper up from its po sition against the teapot and thrust it down between the table and her knee, going on mechanically eating her breakfast, as if by so doing she could beep the suspicious announcement at arm's length. Then she found that, although ehe had gone on eating, she would not swallow the food that was in her mouth, and, as she came to a realization of the fact, she choked the mouthful down and pushed her plate away. "Survivors of the Arikhama!" Good heavenst What did these four words imply V "Survivors of the Arikhama!" "Oh. my God. not that, not that I" she moaned out. putting her hands up to her head and staring hard at the opposite wall. "Not that, not that 1" "Survivors of the Arikhama." The trend of thoughts which the words called up was hideous?hideoue?hideons. Perhaps, after all, he was alive 1 She passed her hands over her face to clear her eyes from the mist that danced before them. Her blood ran cold; her flesh seemed to turn chill; her heart to have stopped its motion; only her terrible thonghts went whirling, whirling, whirling on?to what? To the fact that Edward Conway might be one of the survivors of the Arikhama! She looked down at the paper crushed upon her knee. "I daren't read it; 1 daren't read it. I will put it in the fire as it is. It will be better not to know Oh, my God. what shall I do?" The survivors of the Arikhama 1 Where had they been? Years had gone by! "Oh. this is folly?folly! Pull yourself together. Mary Stacey; pull yourself together Nerve yourself, woman! Don't be a coward! Face the worst: know the worst, and get it over! Anything is better than suspicions, and the paper will tell you." So she took up the paper with nerveless, shaking fingers, smoothed it out and bent her eyes upon it. They refused their office. Merciful nature spread a curtain between her palpitating heart, her dazed brain aud the cruel news whic!) the printed columns brought She could see nothing She shook herself together. "This is foolish," her heart said. "You are unnerved, Mary Stacey. Rub your eyes hard, and don't be a coward. Read the notice." Slowly the printed words appeared through the mist?the merciful mist? "Survivors of the Arikhama." And then the paragraph went on to tell this wondrous tale of the eea. How a sailing brig, under stress of weather, had found herself driven upon a rocky islet in the far Pacific. It was not an unknown is land, but an uninhabited one, being too far out of the ordinary track of vessels and too small and poor in quality of land to make it worth while for any one to settle there. The sailing vessel, finding herself driven very near, put in to renew her stores of water and, to the astonishment of the captain and crew, discovered three men and a dog in possession of the island. These were the captain and two of the crew of the ill fated steamship Arikhama, who, after drifting about in an open boat for many weeks and suffering unheard of privations, had found themselves tossed upon this faroff strand, which had been to them so long a living grave. Captain Conway and the two seamen were the only three men ont of nine who had survived the hardships and privations cf that long and terrible voyage and the crnel life of isolation which followed. Then came a description of how the rescued men had lived. Penguins' eggs, occasional fish and roots of various kinds had formed th^ir chief sustenance. The whole account ended with details of how the three men had wept like madmen on meeting their rescuers, and the concluding sentences said "When we tell our readers {hat Captain Conway had only been married a it iMttifi. .NGE WINTER. few months when he set ont on the Arikhama'e last ill fated voyage, it will easily be understood that his anxiety to have news of his wife was overpowering. The captain and crew of the Live*? T - 1 vytsvka ?Af oKlo f.A ly jeauie, uuwcva. satisfy him on this point, but they sailed the following day for Melbourne, and Captain Conway will set sail for home immediately on arrival at that port." So she knew the worst, and worse than the worst conld not be. So all her new fonnd happiness had fallen about her ears like a honse of carda All was at an end. She sat there, still holding the paper, staring with wild eyes round the luxurious room. So her happiness had all come to an end. Her radiant life was over. She who had been for three blessed years Alan Stacey's honored and devoted wife must be outcast?outcast I She repeated the word over and over again to herself, as if to try by repetition to din its meaning into her bewildered brain Could it be true? Yes That heading still stared at her?"Survivors of the Arikhama. " She had read the account There was Edward Conway's name It was all true?too true And up stairs, ill and prostrate, lay the man who had come to be all the world to her. the man who had taken her. poor and alone as she was. and made her the mistress of his heart and of his home And he was ignorant I She would have to tell him?to tell him that she was not hip wife, to tell him that she was the wife and not the widow of the man who had bought her with a price, who had outraged her. who had struck her. And he had told that story of how he had been only a few months married to a young wife I She wondered bitterly whether he had told them that be had so far forgotten his marriage vows that he had struck the young wife in those early days of their marriage? Three years?three years?three wholly blessed years without one sad thought, without one harsh word, without one regret, three years of pure and unalloyed happiness. Well, she would always have that to look back to. Perhaps she ought not to grumble or to be surprised that , fate had been minded to bring her happiness to an end. It was like the registration of sunshine in London. Some people got a little happiness filtered out ( in driblets over a long.life of great dull- i uess She had had three blessed years ( of glory, and now the time would be all ; gray, like a London fog. She had regis ] tered three years of sunshine, and, like < poor London, she must put in the aver- i age of mist and fog. 1 She sat for some little time longer, ' indeed until John came to clear the ta- < ble. Then, from some woman's instinct < of hiding the tragedy through which i she was passing, she rose and carried : the paper to the fire and stood there i reading an account of the fancy dress ; ball given by the lady mayoress of Lon- i don?aye, and reading it attentively ' They had been present thereat. Her I dress was described?her dress and Alan's?almost siae Dy siae wuu me i words which told of the rescue of the i 6urvivors of the Arikhama. i Then John betook himself away, and she was once more left alone. .She formed no plans, her dazed brain refused to i take in anything more than the stern and bare facts. Edward Conway was i alive?on his way home?eager and i anxious to find her And she was here. ; in the old Fulham house, masquerad- i ing to the world as Alan Stacey's hon- ] ored wifel i And Alan would have to be toldl He i would have to see the papers: he would i have to decide where she was to go, i what she was to do, how she could best i hide herself from the monster who had < legal right over her. She was still sitting there, when 11 i etrokes of the clock warned her that the i morning was passing ? when they i should have warned her, for Mary did I not move from her place beside the fire I Then a smart housemaid came in with < a message "Please, ma'am, master is much bet- i ter, and if you have quite done with the paper he would be glad if you would 1 send it up stairs to him." CHAPTER XIIL THE BUKXED NEWSPAPER. Mary's first instinct was to carry the paper up stairs to Alan Stacey herself , to break the news to him there and then. But hard upon the heels of this thought , came another?that he was but just | over a very violent headache, and it would be cruel to tell him that moment. She therefore whisked out the middle page and gave the rest of the paper to the maid. "Tell Mr. Stacey that I will come up in a few minutes," she said. XT71 4. 1 -A 1 J 1 Al _ I vYueu niw servam uuu leu ine room, her first thought was how ehe could best conceal that part of the paper from Alan. Then she ran to the door. , "Alice, Alice, come back!" she call- , ed. "Give me the paper I will go up to Mr. Stacey myself." i But she did not go up at onca She turned back into the dining room and deliberately tore the sheet containing the telegram across, so that the corner where the account of the rescue of the survivors of the Arikhama had been was gone. This she threw into the fire. Then she went up the wide shallow stairs and turned in at her bedroom door. "My dear boy," ehe said in a tone as much like her natural voice as supreme effort could make it, "I really don't think that you ought to bo reading the newspaper, particularly lying down in bed. Let me read to you." She sat down by the fire with lior back to thi! light. Alan Stacey lay back among his pillows idly enough. | "1 don't care about reading, so long as you'll sit tliere and talic to me," lie said lazily "la there anything in the t paper?" e "No-o; an account of the ball last t night, with our noble names in the g paragraph. All the rest is pretty much \ as usual." t She glanced down the day by day column, gave him a list of all the items of news that might in any way serve to interest him, and after that they talked for a little while, and then Alan Stacey said that be mignt as weu get up as lie idling there, and Mary went down stairs again, carrying the paper in her hand; carrying also her burden with her; carrying with her the knowledge and the conviction that be would have to be told; that she must be the one to break the news to him; that there must be no shirking it, no getting out of it; that it was a task which lay right in front of her, a task which she must accomplish?and the sooner the better. Then she remembered that if she told him Alan would naturally ask to see the paper containing the news. But she had burned itl She felt?so strangely are we moved by trifles in times of great difficulty:?that she could not en- . dure to let him know that her flret thought had been to hide the truth from him. Then how was she to ac- ? count to him for having destroyed that \ part of the paper? Should she send out and get another copy ? She did not like ^ to do that, nor did she like to go herself?it would look so stranga And then the thought came to her: Why tell him at all ? Why say anything v about it? Why break up and destroy their intense happiness ? Nothing could . be wider apart than the lives led by Edward Conway and Alan Stacey's wife Why admit that she had seen the news that part of the crew of the Ari- e KKnmn V?o/1 ViOQTi roarmarl ? .TnQt: nnw. auuiuu UUU U&vu tvwvuwu V MM* mv when Alan was showing signs of over- D work and abont to take a holiday, it ? would be cruel to deal him quch a blow. A few weeks longer in her sunshine T would make no difference to anybody ? but herself. Alan would never know.? Edward Conway need never know? 8' that she hud been aware all along that r three men belonging to the Arikhama had been rescued off an uninhabited island in the Pacific ocean. Why should . she say anything? Why should she not I1 at least let Alan finish his book?the greatest book he had ever done?take his holiday, and, if the blow fell then?why, he would be the better prepared to ? meet it It would be bad enough if Edward Conway discovered her and the p Becret could not be kept any longer. Having thus made up her mind to _ keep the news which had reached her to herself, she acted immediately. She p destroyed the torn sheet of the paper ei and thrust the part which remained n carelessly into the rack with the other S journals, trusting to her own wit to ^ keep Alan from wishing to look at it P during the day. It was an off day with the young lady who typed to her dicta- a! tion, so that she was free of any tie of work. She set herself to do some nee- b in +yiot oJlomiffllt 1 nnlr rw*. k cupied when Alan made his appearance, and sh6 sat near the window stitching d Industriously, while her mind went over b and over again snch shreds of sglf justification as she could find to salve ^ her conscience. She told herself that it was not as if she had gone into an ir- b regular union with her eyes open. She had truly and honestly believed ri herself to be Edward Conway's widow, and her marriage with Alan was her " real marriage. What was it they said? tl "I require and charge you both, as ye 7 will answer a^the dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall tl be disclosed, if either of you know of any impediment why ye may not law- P fully be joined together in matrimony, e' pe do now confess it." Then came these ? impressive words: "Those whom God si hath joined together let no man put b asunder." Surely, surely, God had join- ^ ed them; surely, surely, it had been by tl the permission of God that such a blaze h of pure and innocent joy and glory had b come into her life; surely she would be sj doing right to continue such a union, ti The moet fanatical and bigoted lover of v conventionalism could never wish that a she should go back to live the life of S ahaine and degradation which had been o hers during those few months after her ^ Bret marriage?after that barbarous sale of herself into which she had been driven km ni.nnmiitaTiMa nhanlrifplv hpvnnd her Ujr j j control. 110 Alan Stacey came down presently, pi and when Mary noticed how haggard ci and ill he was looking she thanked n heaven that she had kept the news of g< Edward Conway's survival to herself, ol She exerted herself in every possible tc way to please him, coaxing him to eat ei when lunchtime came and being seem- g< ingly in the gayest and brightest of p spirits. But nothing served to rouse him ^ from the dull depression which seemed 0i to have taken possession of him. jr "I believe you ought to have staid jr in bed," she said at last as he sat mop- oi ing and shivering over the fire. H "No; I'm better up," he answered. "The book is weighing on your mind. jc dflnrpst.." 0, "Horribly," he replied, "horribly. I feel as if I should never finish it." . "Oh, don't say that! You've been 11 burning the candle at both enda You ^ cannot do this work and go to fancy ,l dress balls at the same time Why not c| let us slip away and finish it quietly a Bomewhere? Supposing tnat we paca up and go to some quiet little place ^ where we can work in peace and com- . fort, and after that we will go off on our long holiday." ? He caught at the suggestion eagerly. "That's a good idea. Mary," he re- ? plied; "that's u very good idea. You'll 1 take little Miss Winnington down with J' you?" "Oh, yes, because there's a good lot . to do yet. Oh. yes, we would have her Id down there with us. But the change, P the fresh air, the sea, the restfulness, ,c would all be very good for you and a! would help you to finish it with half the effort it would be if we staid at ^ home. Shall wo go off at once?" f "As soon as ever you like," he re- '8 plied. "Where shall we go? Let us try some part of CornwulL " " "Well, dear, there's that little place bat the Alec Dugdules went to. They aid the inn was so comfortable and ;he cooking so good and the little place o primitive and yet so sweet, and >oating and fishing and cycling and all ' hat sort of thing you could do in per She threw it into the fire. ection. Don't yon think that wonld do 1 or ua? You know we cannot have a | ilace too quiet until we are through the ( MX)k. " I 1 "I think it would do splendidly Wouldn't we telegraph today and go [own tomorrow ? Have we any engageaents?" "We have no dinners; nothing that ?e couldn't easily break." "Have we the address of the inn?" "Oh, yes; it is called 'the Powys ( inns.' " She rang the bell and then went to he writing table to get the book of tel- ( graph forms. , "I must send a wire to Miss Win- , lington. Of course, if she is not quite ble to come tomorrow, she might come . own the day after, which perhaps j rould be rather better. Oh, John, we re going down to Cornwall tomorrow | or a week or two. I want you to send ? ome telegrams off at once and to ar- * ange all Mr. Stacey's things." "Very good, ma'am You will take , he machines down?" "Oh, yes I And what about your fish- . og rod, Alan? There is very good fish- ( ag down there, so the Dugdales said.' , "Then I had better take my tackle.'' "Will this do, Alan? 'Have you j ooms vacant, two bedrooms, two sit- . ing rooms ? Wanted for tomorrow. Rely paid.' " "That will do. " said he She scribbled nlso a message to Miss 7innington, and when John had dearted and she was looking down the agagement book to see whether any . otesof excuse would be necessary Alan j tacey got tip and began walking resttasly about the room. At last he atop- 1 ed in front of her table. * "What are you doing now?" he sked. "I wa9 just looking whether I should * ave to write to any one?excuses, you , now." He stood with his hands thrust deep s own into his trousers pockets eying 1 er approvingly. "You're a wonderful little woman, lary," be said in a very tender tone. , She smiled at at him and put out her and to touch his. "I'm glad you think so." she said in f itber a quavering voice. 1 "Oh, my deur, my dear, I always binksol" be said passionately. "Itwas c ae luckiest day of my life when I met on." * "And what," said she, "do you t aink that it must have been for me?" * She was at that moment on the very * oint of breaking down and telling him 1 verything. Then the sound of the sob 1 i her own voice frightened her. No, Jbe could not, must not, dared not. tell 1 im just now?now, when he had the a weight of a great book upon his mind, 1 be unxiety of a large contract before 1 im, when he was in a measure nerve t roken and anxious and depressed. No; * be must keep the secret, at least for a r :me. It would be selfish to do other- 8 rise. She owed it. even if it was a sin. 1 a n small return for all that Alan I tacey had poured out at her feet. She ^ wed it to him. In this instance eilence a ?as her duty. e TO BE CONTINUED. C ???? c A Wealth of Gold.?One of the f lost surprising developments of the c ast few years is the tremendous in- a -ease iD the production of gold. The I ew cyanide process enables miners to I et gold in paying quantities out t f rock that did not pay to work here- i >fore and this with important discov- a ries and increase in workers in the a old fields have brought about a sur- a rising increase in the output of the 1 lines. The official figures from vari- f as countries iu 1898 are rapidly com- f ig to hand, and indicate an increase t i gold production alone of $50,000.- 1 30 over the gold production of 1897. I .eturns for 1899 are already available a > a sufficient extent to indicate an s icrease of more than $50,000,000 I ver 1898, unless some unexpected ca- t istrophe checks miuing in South Af r ca or Australia, which will carry the roduction for the current year to 1 bout $340,000,000. This rate of in- t ease has now been running for sever- t I years and it is believed at the Ireas- r ry that 1900 can hardly fail to show I gold producton of $400,000,000. t bout $65,000,000 will be required for t ... i cqqs nnn nnn i ie aria, leovmgTuuv^uujvw BTai>?u.v >r use as money. The indicated total f outh African production for 1899 is t ver $106,000,000, and that of Aus- r alia $78,000,000. The United States 1 roductions of 1897 was $47,363,000. 1 'he increase of $8,000,000 for 1S98 will i b duplicated for the current year and t likely to be increased next year. A s roduction of not less than $20,000,000 * i the Klondike district seems to be v ssured for 1899. Other countries v hich will show considerable increase s >r 1899 over 1898 are Russia and v lexico. The advocates of an enirged money supply will no doubt I h as well satisfied to have iucrease i i gold as to have it any other way. r iUiscellancous Reading. HOUDIN AND THE MARABOUTS. rrickit With Which tlie French Mac'cla Astonished the Arab Fakirs. From the Household World. To witness Houdin's first perform tnce in Algiers the neighboring tribe were invited. The theatre was speed ly filled with them and the French of Scials, who attended in all their pomj tnd glory. Interpreters were scatter id through the house in order to re port Houdin's remarks to the native: n their own language with true Orient il dignity and gravity, the Arabs wit iiessed the first few tricks in stolid si ence, but the takiug of u huge cunuoi :mi11 from a borrowed bat aroused grea jxcitement. Then came the grea tricks of the eveuing, especially pre pared to astonish the Arabs. "By a wonderful power which ! possess," said Houdiu, "I cau deprivi iny man of his strength. I invite ant jue to prove my words." Oo this being interpreted to thi Arabs a tall, strong man stepped for ward on the stage. Houdin held it lis hand a little iron box, and, bal incing it carelessly on his little finger ae asked the Arab: "Are you strong?" "Yes," replied the man carelessly. "Are you sure of always remaining so?" "Always." "Lift that box." The Arab did so and asked con ;emptuously : "Is that all?" "Wait," said Houdin, making a sol ;mu gesture. "Now you are weakei .hau a woman. Try to lift that boa igain." The Arab seized the handle and tug ;ed agaiu. He could not raise the boa in iuch from the floor. After man^ ittempts he paused for a moment U .trace himself for a final effort. He seized the handle aguiu, but sbriekee lloud with pain, dropped on his knees hen, rising, threw his cloak around hi; 'ace to conceal his shame, and rusher "rom the theatre, leaving his compa ;riots stricken wun iear. me invi .vas as simple' as.tbe result was start itig. The box was placed on a pow jrful electro-magnet, and the curreu leing complete, no mau on earth couk lave lifted it. An electric shock, seni it a signal by Houdin from behind lk< jtage, was what caused the Arab t< ihriek and hurriedly retreat. Before the excitement caused by thii rick had subsided, Houdin announcec hat he had a talisman which renderet lim invulnerable, aud he defied tlx lest shot in Algiers to kill him. A narabout immediately sprang on the itage, exclaiming, "I want to kill you.' Houdin handed him a pistol, whicl ,be Arab, examining, pronounced i ;ood one. "It is a good pistol, aud ] \ill kill you." "Very well," said Houdin : "to mak< iure put in a double charge of pow ler. Here's a wad. Take a bulle rora this tray and mark it so you wil enow it again. Rum it into the pislo veil." "It is done." "Now," said Houdin, "you say th< listol is a good one, and you've loadec t well, so kill me." "Yes," replied the marabout, I wil lo that." Houdin took a pear, stuck it on t cnife, and walked a few paces in front >f the Arab, and tolcl him to aim a lis heart. He fired, and the markec lullet was seen on the pear. After th< >owder and wad were rammed home ind while the Arab was marking tb< >ullet, Houdin slipped a little tub< nto the pistol. This tube was closec tt the lower eud, and into this the \.rab dropped the bullet. As he thrusl he wad down with the ramrod th< ube fitted snugly on to it, aud was vithdrawn with it, being polished t< esemble it. Houdiu thus got posses ion of the marked ball, and all was hen plaiu sailing. On one occasion during his visit tc Algiers Houdiu was placed in a verj iwkward position, from which beonl> xtricated himself by his quick-witted less. He was the guest of an Aral :hief, Abou Allem and entertained his lost and frieuds by a few tricks. Out if the compaoy was a marabout, whc .sserted that the spectators in Algiers lud been merely duped by a vision ioudin, however, produced the mara tout's watch in his baud, aud ou feel ng his sash the marabout found then i five-franc piece. Convinced by this ind other feats that Houdin was really i sorcer, he challenged him to repeut lis performance in the theatre, anc .roduced two pistols. "You need uol ear," said the Arab, "siuce you kuow io\v to ward off bullets." Witboul osing his self-possessiou. Houdiu ex ilaiued that his iuvulnerability lay ic l talisman which was with his posses ious in Algiers. "By six hours >rayer, however, I can do without the alisman, aud ut 8 o'clock tomorrow norning you can fire at rae." At the appointed time there was a arge concourse of Arabs, which the lews had attracted. The pistols were irought aud carefully examined. Tin narabout dropped in the powder, ioudin handed him a bullet from the ray, und he rammed it down. Houdin hen loaded his own pistol, and, walk g about 15 paces away, turnedfctid aced the marabout. The shot was ired, and the Frenchman opened his nouth and showed the bullet between lis teeth. "You could uot kill me," lesaid, " and now you shall see what ny shot can do." He fired at the oarabout, and immediately a red plash was seeu ou the wall before vbich he was standing. The Arab vas uutouched ; stepping up to the vail he dipped his finger iu the red plash, tasted it, and, realiziug that it vas blood, collapsed iu amazement. Though the trick was simple, only a loudiu could have devised and caried it out successfully. During the fight he had melted some wax, black ened it to looic iiKe leau, ana run u into a bullet-mold, thus obtaining a : hollow globe of wax exactly resembling u bullet in appearance. It was with this bullet the marabout loaded n his pistol, and in ramming it down crushed it to powder. A second bullet similarly made, Houdin filled with blood obtained from his own body. s This he dropped into his pistol, and rammed it down very gently, so as not to crush it. As it struck the wall it _ was broken, leaving a red splash of [ blood. S TEA-TASTING AS A CALLING. Tatters Live to a Ripe Old Age If Thej Let Ll?|uor Alone. ^ New York Evening Post. I Down in the districts of the tea and l coffee warehouses, in the neigbbor. hood of the foot of Wall street, merchants, brokers and clerks will laugh [ at you when you ask them if the conj stant tasting of tea and coffee does not f dry up their systems and shorten their lives. Tea-tasting was alleged to have ? hastened the death of a man in the . district this week. , "Do I look as though my life had . been short?" asked one elderly man with gray hair and spectacles in response to this question. His movements were spry and active, and his eyes as bright as those of mauy a man r not half as old. He was sitting at a small round table in a little front room on the ground floor of one of the larger tea bouses. Near at hand on a . gas range several teapots were steamiug merrily, and tea sets, cups, saucers and trays complete, hung in ir. reproachable order in cupboards within r reach. c "I've been in the business nearly 50 years, a good share of that time a . 'taster.' " said he, "and there's no signs - of decay yet. I'll tell you what it is. j Anyone who sticks to tea and coflee , will live to be an old mun. It's the . stuff called rum that does the busij ness. If you will look closely into the history of these men whom doctors s say die from the effects of tea aud cofi fee drinking vou will find they drank . other kinds of liquids besides. Of i course, there are cases of persons who . driuk tea to 'excess, just the same as . there are other kinds of excesses. But t we call that a disease, j "In our case there is always the danl ger of poison. Copperas, used in col- ' 3 oring cheap teas, is 'a menace to a j taster ; but one gets to be able to tell cheap brands before harm is done. ' 3 Carelessness in tasting and an overin] dulgence in strong drink, overtaxing ] the stomach with stimulant, are always ? disastrous. Come around 10 years L from now, and if I don't get hashed ; up by surface cars, I'll be here to tell ? you more abouLit." , A coffee broker, who was one of the ^ first men on the street to begiu the [ "tasting" of coffee, was the only one who admitted that "tasting'' had af3 fected him. "Fifty years ago," he said, "tea was l the only commodity tasted by samj piers. Coffee was then inspected by j the eye ouly. But now, when competition is so close, buyers are very particular, and employ 'tasters,' whose 3 judgment on the particular brand of 1 berry under inspection is final. This has only been done since 1885. First 1 we have to roast the green berry. That is the first stage of the test, and t then we steep a handful to make coffee t for 'tasting.' Very few men swallow l it, for so much strong coffee at irreguI lar intervals through the day has a ? very bad effect upon the system. You f see it's a trick of the trade to know . how to 'taste' it. There are a few I ? know of that it has affected ; but I've I been in the business over 25 years and j I'm alive yet." t * ( GOVERNOR ELLERBE DEAD. Chief Executive Succumbed to Conflumptlon Last Friday Night. A telegram received by The Enquirer on last Saturday morning announced the death on Friday evening at 8.26 o'clock, of Governor W. H. Ellerbee. i The governor died in the old family ? homestead, at Sellers, near Marion, i He had been taken there some weeks i before in the hope that he would be i benefited by the change. His disease, < however, consumption, continued to i eucroacb steadily and surely ou the J vital organs, until at last he could j keep up the fight no longer. When I death come the governor's wife, children, brothers and sisters surrounded bis bedside. I The funeral took place on Saturday I afternoon at 4 o'clock in the old Eller- ' be burying ground about four miles i from Sellers. It was attended by Seu- i ators Tillman and McLauriu, all the I ???.n.nramah nilin n)omo nltlp Ifl rPfirll < l.OOUJOll ? ?IV V)V> v ? #?? ?? - ?? Sellers in time, and by most of the I ' state officers. i i Governor William Ifuselden Ellerbe i ' was born at the Ellerbe homestead, in I Marion county, on May 7, 1862. He I i deceuded from pood English stock that I i was distinguished for brave and patri- i otic service, in the war of the llevo- i ; lutiou. His early educational training s was received at the hands of private i ! tutors. Next he went to Wofford col- i i lege, and from there to Vanderbilt ] University, at Nashville, Teun.; but i was not graduated from either iustitu- i i tion on accouut of bud health. When s i the Tillman wovemeut commenced in ( 1890 the governor was engaged in I planting and merchandising, and his f. subsequent career is a subject with c i which the people of the state are gen- t erally familiar. t The governor's untimely death has \ ? cast over the state a deep gloom. 8 i While in many things there were those t who disagreed with him, still most \ i people who knew him best recognized 1 him as an earnest, conscientious man \ who desired to do only that which was j right. His mistakes, when he made t : them, were mistakes of the head rath- t er than of the heart. If iiiEi nan uuy tn.iun. The Hon. M. B. McSweeney, to whom, on January 18, 1897, was administered the oath of office as lieutenant governor for his first term, and who now, owiug to his re-election in 1898 to that office, becomes governor of South Carolina to fill out the unexpired term, is a good example of what pluck and perserverance will do for any one against the most adverse conditions. Young McSweeney was left fatherless in Charleston at the age of 4 years. His tenth year saw him struggling for a livelihood. He sold newspapers and clerked in a bookstore, and while engaged iu the latter occupation attended a night school, where be developed a fondness for reading. McSweeney afterwards worked for Burke & Lord, job printers, and from there he went to Edward Perry's where he completed his apprenticeship as a job printer. While employed at the latter place a scholarship at the Washington and Lee university, of Lexington, Va., was offered to the Charleston Typographical union, which was to be awarded to the most deserving young mun employed in Charleston printing offices. By a majority of the votes of the uniou, young McSweeney was chosen, aud the scholarship given to him. After staying at the university for a part of a session he was forced to leave for the lack of means to pay for bis board and clothes. This ended bis hopes for a college educution, and be once more applied himself to bis trade. He was a union printer, and served the Columbia Typographical union as recording secretary and afterwards as president. While living in Columbia he was also secretary of the Phoenix Hook and Ladder company. Mr. McSweeney has an enviable record as a Democrat. In 1876 he did excellent service, which is not yet forgotten by men who stood shoulder to shoulder with him in those trying days. It Was about that time that the Richland Rifle club was organized, of which Mr. McSweeney was a charter member. Mr. McSweeney's first venture as a journalist was when he moved to Winuiu.Sit nnH hpimn t.hft nnhlination * ' ,UVV *"* ~ *"*0? w x of the Ninety-Six Guardian. His capital was just $65; but he bought a second-hand outfit for $500, paying $55 in cash. He was energetic, economical and gave the people a newsy paper, thus enabling him at the end of the year to pay the last cent of bis indebtedness. Mr. McSweeney's paper, the Hampton Guardian, made its first appearance August 22, 1879. From the first it has been well managed and well edited, and today ranks foremost among the county papers of the state. In all enterprises for the good of Hampton county, Mr. McSweeney has shown himself indefatigable. For five terms he served as intendant of the town, and then declined re-election. For eight years he was president of the South Carolina Press association ; has been a member of the legislature, and was a member of the last constitn-' tional convention. Twice he has been honored as a delegate to the national Democratic convention. In 1888 he voted for Cleveland and Thurman, and in 1896 be voted for Bryan and Sewall. For ten years Mr. McSweeney was county chairman of Hampton. He has taken great interest in the military affairs of the state. During the last two sessions of the legislature, before his election as lieutenant gov- / ernor, he was chairman of the committee ou military and was a member of the governor's staff with the rank of colonel. Mr. McSweeney's interest in educa1 1 ?...?to-q uv.iooHu nuen hia inUr. liuuai ujauvwo VAWW>w W*VM est in military affairs. He was for some years a trustee of the South Carolina college. Mr. McSweeney was married on the 12th day of July, 1886, to Miss Mattie Miles Porcher, and brings to the executive mansion with him a most interesting family. A MAN OF THE PEOfthE. The Manning Times of last week 3ays : Lieutenant Governor McSweeney, representing the state, delivered an address of welcome to the veterans rereutly in Charleston, which placed him among the foremost orators on the occasion. While the governor did not meution it in his speech, it is not improper for us to state that upon the ground where he delivered bis speech he often walked to and from bis work when a boy. Governor McSweeney was not born with a silver spoon in bis mouth, and from his early bdyhood he entered the battle of life as a breadwinner. His education was received In the school of experience where so many of our greatest men received theirs. Early in life he was forced to us? dimnnrt ?nrl manv h enld. curu mo duj/j/v. v| ? ?-?j 1 bleak moruiug, across the lot where now stauds Charleston's grand auditorium, aud where M. B. McSweeny, in :he name of the state, eloquently exeuded a welcome to the survivors of :he "Lost Cause," did he, barfooted ind hungry, hasten to bis labor to earn i pittance aud au experience which has stood by him to this dap and which liakes him appreciate the struggles of i people. MeSweeuey's life and experience ought to be written and stud ed by the youth of state ; in it they ,vill learn that a man can make himlelf, he can be the architect of his >wu fortune, and it is not necessary to ie labeled with a loDg line of distinguished ancestry, to rise. In the life >f McSweeuey they will see that by dose attention, energy and integrity he old saying that "you can't keep a vorking man down" is a truism. With luch a man as governor of the state he people would have an executive vho started at the bottom round of the adder of life, and, by his own efforts; vent to the top. His experience ilaces him in touch with the people's vants and needs, and by being one of hem, their interests are his interests, ind he would be the people's governor.